That the first thing he did was set the stuff down and pull her close broke the dam on the emotions she'd thought she'd gained at least a little control over. Her own arms bent between them, her fingers curling in his shirt as she pressed her face against his chest. And when he spoke, Lucy would swear her heart had stopped. She'd been loved growing up, of course, and she'd had the occasional crazy date blurt it out after only the second or third date, but she had never had a man say it to her in a context that felt true and genuine and, Lord help her, right.
She didn't want to love him. It was messy and complicated, and her life had been so much simpler, more manageable before he'd stormed into it. And yet, in that moment, enveloped in his embrace, his scent wrapping around her like a balm to her soul, Lucy couldn't imagine her life without him. "I love you, too," she breathed against his chest, her voice a barely audible whisper that she wasn't even sure he would be able to hear.